Prove me guilty
by W.I.S.N.G
Summary: A single grain of sand is all it takes to turn the tides. ...Gi-vE mE a! bra!Ek I- a!m nEw a!t thi-s.
1. PROLOGUE

**Warnings:** Adult language, Adult content, Phychological nudity(Heard that somewhere and decided to keep it)

**Disclaimer: **Don't even own self, what do you think the chances are of ownin this story, or death note?

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It was Raye Pember who inadvertently roused Naomi Misoura from her brief and restive retirement: Pember, a seasoned American F.B.I agent and the fiancée of the above-mentioned woman, who, in a moment of uncharacteristic carelessness, forgot that the Japanese, like the English before them, drive on the right side of the road.

The backdrop of his demise was a wind-swept December evening in the uppercrust residential area known as the Shirokanedai district of Minato, Tokyo. The occasion was the final day of his stalking of one Light Yagami, after which he would meet with Watari, the great L's intermediary and discuss the information(or apparent lack thereof) he had gathered on the only son of the Yagami household. The investigation, which had been launched earlier that week amid great excitement and fanfare. But by the end of the day, he had realized this was just another dead-ender. The two headed for Space Land at ten, sitting close to each other as young couples and honeymooners are wont to do.

A man attempted hijacking of the bus had brought some excitement, but that had helped him come to the conclusion that, no, the Yagami-boy was not Kira, otherwise the criminal would no be dead of a heart attack and not the victim of some freak car accident, it had only been the severity of his training, or brainwashing as he often joked with his soon-to-be-wife, that he had even redoubled back and continued his curtsey surveillance of the teenage couple. The two went on rides, posed for pictures and did a lot of cutesy cuddling; he wouldn't mind it so much if the girl hadn't reminded him of his fiancée and what he wanted to do to her when the damn government gave him time.

At lunchtime the two had a debate over something relating with the rights of women in Saudi Arabia, which dissolved in to a battle of the sexes which ended with the young woman dashing away her cheeks reddened, her face flustered.

Light Yagami, Japan's number one scorer and soon-to-be graduate of the prestigious male private school, Azabu High, was the last to rise. Hardly surprising his peers might have said for amoung the incentous arena of high school studies, Light had the reputation of one rarely relinquished the ground once he had planted his roots.

The two caught a bus and upon departure,Light made a series of turns, right then left, and then right again. At an intersection, Raye reajized they were haed toward's the Yagami household. Mission accomplished. He smiled to himself then headed toard the Shirokanedai Station of the Toei Mita Line, thinking of the woman who anxiously awaited his arrival.

He looked to his left, saw empty asphalt, and stepped off the curb.

The groan of the lorry horn was the last sound Raye Pember ever heard, at impact his briefcase, containing a treasure trove of information; Personnel, Bank accounts, surveillance photographs, communication links, broke free of him. It took flight, turning over several times as it hovered over the road, then landed on the street with a solid thud. A man in a long black trenchcoat barely had to break stride as he bent down and snared it by its strap. He slipped it neatly over his shoulder, and headed towards Shirokanedai Station.

By three, the man and the briefcase were heading towards a quiet leafy, gothic abode Centered in Winchester England. There the late F.B.I agent's personal effects were hastily inspected, while the laptop was subjected to a sustained assault by a team of technical wizards, one of whom complaining to anyone who would listen that the info unearthed was dumber than the Nintendo Wii, although dissent was immediatly voiced, many secretly agreed. By 5 pm the first packet of intelligence had been forwarded to Robert S. Mueller, III Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's office.

Then a manila folder containing the discovered information and the same man were seen departing the Paris CDG via the London LHR at about 11:25pm and Arrived at the NRT at 7 pm. And by 7:35 it was being carried down a lush office block in Nishi Shinjuku, Shinjuku-ku Tokyo, Japan. The armored Peugeot Limousine parked in the reserve mark for the Oakwood Apartments, a man, the same man, although, now clothed in more traditional dress, walked out eyeing both sides of the road before entering through the lobby, glanced at the mailbox, noticing the lack of nameplate then sighed to himself, punching the button to the elevator to the third landing. Where he stopped in front of a door, unhooked a separate key and pushed it open soundlessly.

A hotel designer with an impeccable taste for fashion had meticulously decorated the flat. Now, the paintings and much of the furniture was gone replaced in the occupants desire to be freed from the junk of others in favor of creating his own junk.

He walked up behind a huddled figure in a white tank-top, and faded baggy jeans who was contentedly humming to himself stacking sugar cubes in what appeared to be an amazingly accurate likeness of the real-life structure for Architectural designs of the Hydropolis Hotel.

"We need to talk."

---xxx---

yeah it's not all that long but I SWEAR it'll get better.


	2. The Ex

For those of you who've read my original don' read this.

---

Cute, real cute…"

During the last decade, most federal bond offices have made their entire booking process digital. (They rarely take fingerprints using an inkpad but use biometric scans instead.) Mug shots are now typically taken using a digital camera. The accused's personal identification number (those digits that used to appear on a placard in front of the arrestee's torso) and other data like gender, eye color, and birth date, are recorded on the side of the photo. So, through advances in technology mug shots are now pretty much indistinguishable from normal photographs. Why do I mention this? Some genius had posted my photograph on an Image record mug shot, which along with usual information, listed the various girlfriends I had dated through high school, my telephone number, a couple of my old cell numbers and the caption "Call for a good time". The student clerk that manned the library's front desk handed me a copy as soon as I walked in this morning, said she'd seen them lying all over school, even tacked to the bulletin boards.

"Wonder who thinks this is funny?" she said as I shrug, unconcerned and thanked her. I have better things to worry about than some stupid teenage prank. Heading toward my study corner, once again ducking between the shelves, evading contact with familiar faces, who'd likely attempt to be sympathetic. It wasn't as if I cared, but I was pretty well known, and if I wanted to study at all, it was best to avoid confrontation. I glanced over at a group of students discussing their after school campaigns and roll my eyes. Soon I will finish high school. I had already passed the Joint First Stage Achievement Test with flying colors, all I had left was to sit tomorrow's entrance exam, and I'll be out of here, far away from these stupid people I can't stand.

I eat lunch alone at a sunakku-ba snack bar. Kitsune Udon and Gyokuro tea. The problem with being a creature of habit is many people can predict your moves. I had actually needed to leave the library, to avoid a seemingly endless stream of people who interrupted on 12 second intervals to interrogate me on my sex life. I ate slowly, stirring my tofu and noodles, staring at the 141 names on the suspect list I had barrowed from my father. L, with his limitless resources, had used a team of FBI investigators, a tactic he could still be utilizing for all Light knew, since he hadn't been able to kill off all the agents, thanks to a unwittingly clever move by the late great Raye Pember.

These people had sought out their objectives and explored their lives, secretly photographing their homes and automobiles, found out if they'd ever been involved in litigation, obtained credit reports and employment (if applicable) records, dug up dirt on possible breakups or criminal charges, and by the end of it would hardly surprise him if they even knew what the weather had been the day the first words had come out of their target's drooling mouths. I had narrowed this list down to an impressive, in my ever-modest opinion, to an impressive twenty-seven, and that's what worried me most. If I, as a poorly financed high school student could narrow the file down to a mere twenty-seven, what would L, who probably had consultants that'd watch recordings of unsuspecting people, studying faces, body language, dress, manners, and only God, and the consultants themselves, knew what else, have discovered since he'd first put up the surveillance cameras.

I put away my Kira case files and take out my study material, examining the other diners. Many wore business suits, as one would find in any bar serving alcohol, but there were obvious drunks in the crowd, flirting in vain shameless abandon with the skinny peroxide blondewaitresses that shuffled between tables, who probably wouldn't give them the time of day if drunks didn't tip so well, I watch a group of particularly rambunctious frat boys in a corner and wonder if they knew there was a future cop in their midst, one studying for the entrance exams so he would earn the privilege to go to a decent university, To-Ho, where he would once again study, so he could one day arrest them. I doubt they'd really care. I have as much a right to this place as they do.

No one notices me. An occasional server prowls around looking to get a tip. I pay for my first cup around 4:23. P.M., And soon lose myself in a painful review of the two-volume Kujikata Osadamegaki, enacted by Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune during the Edo Period in 1742, forcing me to revive the horror of my first year in high school. I plow ahead. I have procrastinated to this point and there'd be no time tomorrow if I realized mid-test that I had forgotten to review some pointless subject that I'd never see again once I graduated. Two hours pass before I go for a refill. The crowd has thinned, and I spot two users in the crowd. Dad would get in their faces, but not me.

I like it here at night. It quiet and no one knows me. It's ideal for studying. The Koh-Hee's not bad either and refills are half-price. When I'm here I can pretend to be an average student whose biggest concern is the cloth's they'll be wearing on Friday night's date. I study for an hour then leave my table for the restroom. When I return to resume my position the snack bar is, as if by magic, once again crowded. I left my books scattered on the table, and one plainly read Japanese Law: An Economic Approach (Studies in Law and Economics). They glanced at me suspiciously, probably thinking I was a lawyer or something of that nature, and instantly quieted down. So they'd been discussing my materials at length, big deal. My cell rang almost the instant I sat down, making me jump. I peered at the caller I.D and then flicked it open with a smile. "Grand central. This is the Danbury Branch how may I help you, Sir or Madam?" Soft feminine laughter reached his ears.

"Grand central, this is the Hudson Line, requesting pickup times over."

"Which station?"

"Umm, Bronx, no, Noroton Heights, I think…" So she was at school, his school, Azabu.

"I didn't know the Hudson Line stopped at that locale."

"Oh it doesn't, the conductor went postal and hijacked the train. It was horrible."

"The Danbury Branch makes stops on 15-minute intervals, so you shouldn't have to wait long."

"That's what they all say." Light unceremoniously dumped his school materials in the bag and headed out the door. Once, speaking in codes might have seemed a little excessive but now that he had that ink- splash of the English language waiting to swoop down on him and feed on his carcass the moment he made a mistake, the old codes seemed almost inconsequential.

Sayu Yagami was waiting for me inside. My sister and I are a study in contrasts. Where I am tall and lean, she's short and sturdy. She has dark hair and eyes, and thinks I look like a male Shirley Temple; I think she's a brat. My features are lean and angular plus I've got a nice sharp chin, while hers is round and smooth, so if anyone would be doing a skit of _Heidi_, it'd be her.

"Don't you have any other clothes, Light?" was the first thing she asked as I came within hailing distance. I looked down at my custom-made Issey Miyake business suit and frowned. "

What's wrong with this one?"

"It belongs on the set of _The Black Dahlia_."

"And?" She snorted, an indelicate sound from so small a girl, and spun on her heal walking toward the main doors. "Only you wouldn't care that you look like an extra on a flick rated number two on the most boring movies of all time."

"Only because I know you're wrong. Unlike their foundation army rejects, my suit actually has class." I caught up and walked a little ahead of her.

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence." She sped up her pace. So did I. We raced one another through the large front doors, ignoring the looks we received from various security guards. My legs are longer; I got there first. I politely held the door open and gestured her through. It was an old contest of that went back since to our childhood. Maybe my values are a little outdated, but I subscribe to the older school of thought that treated woman like something other than men with chest baggage. Take me to court if you think that makes me a bad person, I'm ready.

"Polish a turd, it's still a turd." She glared up at me as I stood there holding open the door, but there was an assurance about that glare, a relaxation, she took an odd sort of comfort in our ritual, as much as It irritates the hell out of her that she was frequently the loser in our rivalry. As we waited for the bus I studied my sister, she wore a long coat that covered her top and about half of the slim-fitting jeans that clung to her well-shaped legs. It may sound perverted but I knew my younger sister was attractive and besides, the aikido trophies that covered her desk weren't just for show.

Sayu was tense; at least that what my instinct cried out to me, stretched as tight the strings on a Bosendorfer violin. She kept it off her face, but there was something about the set of her shoulders and neck, the stiffness of her back, that made me aware of it. Or maybe I was just projecting it onto her. Standing out in the open, waiting for a bus, no matter how many people waited with me always seemed to put me on edge. The Murder of Stephen Lawrence was not a film I'd forget in the near future. I looked at the six other passengers. Nope, none of them looked like Nazis, but who knew? I took my sisters hand in mine and drew close "What's wrong" I whispered noticing the nervous air. She paused and looked at me intently then glanced away, quickly. "I had a fight with my boyfriend."

"Oh." What could I say? Fights happen all the time; women really took them seriously. But I hadn't figured my little sister would be the sort of individual who'd act like this unless…

"He didn't do anything to you did he?" I work hard to keep the menace out of my voice. If this bastard tried anything, he would have the wrath of Kira on his skinny teenaged ass.

"No."

"Then why're you-"

"-He cheated on me, okay"

"No, it's not okay; a man doesn't treat a woman like that. You're better of without him, Sayu." It wasn't bad enough to earn him a one-way ticket to a painful accidental death, but it did earn junior a little talk with Sayu's big brother.

"You're one to talk." She scoffed, still not looking at me. "What's that supposed to mean?" she handed me a sheet of laminated paper.

You make enemies in High School. The competition can be vicious. People learn how to cheat and backstab; it's training for the real world. We had a fist-fight in my first year when two third-years started screaming at each other during a mock debating competition. The expelled them, then readmitted them. Private schools need the tuition money. There are quite a few people I dislike, one or two I truly detest. I try not to hate people At this moment, as I glare at the photograph lifted from our school's year book, I hate the little shit that did this to me. "It's just a prank." I murmur defensively, looking away from my all-too-innocent smile peering up at me.

"I'm sure. Big brother, don't look like that, I know women have been after you since you were in diapers. All I'm asking is that you don't go and do something that'll jeopardize your career, all right?"

"Would I do something like that?"

"In a heartbeat." I had to chuckle at that. "Alright, I won't get on pretty boy's case, happy?"

"Thus says the pot complementing the kettle's complexion."

"Jealousy will get you no where, Sayu." she tilted up her head and laughed in my face.

As we sat in the back of the bus, I considered my sister, something was upsetting her, and it had nothing to do with a guy. It turned out our choice of seating arrangements left much to be desired. We sat close to a group of what looked like cheerleaders that were talking too much.

"…so I told him off in front of the whole Baseball team…," one babbled. "I hadn't meant to. We were alone at first, and then they all came pouring out of the locker room. So what could I do? He was hating every minute of it. You totally should have seen his face…" The girl was upset, she was trying to pretend the break-up meant nothing to her but it was obvious that she was simply putting up a facade in front of her friends. "I told him I'd rather kiss a toilet than kiss him again," she continued, barely pausing for breath. "I was pretty harsh, but I'm telling you, the guy deserved it. He's a liar, and I feel sorry for the poor pathetic girlfriend who probably follows him around like a puppy. Think about it. What kind of head case would stay with a guy who abused her that way?" none of the other girls seemed ready to supply an answers so she plowed right along. "I mean he's good looking sure but nothing special." That was a lie. At least in her opinion, a wistful air had entered her voice, caught by no one except Light. One of the other girls were glaring at the speaker, clearly annoyed with listening to the girl swoon over some boy. "And the guy can't kiss worth a damn." Another lie, women were habitual liars when it came to relationships.

----

"I'm over it, and I'm glad to be done with him." Yuri said, tossing another lie on the pile. "The last thing I need is a lying, cheating loser and that's what Light Yagami is. He and his loser girlfriend belong together. I hope they live happily effin' after." She heard a muttered word and then the crinkling of papers. She looked up to see a dark-eyed girl jump to her feet. The girl was livid, gnashing her teeth angrily like a hulking dark-haired pit bull. She got off the bus, followed by one of the most swoon-worthy guys she had ever dated. 'Some people had all the luck.' She shrugged lightly "I guess that girl has a weak stomach for gossip." Yuuka let out a long impatient breath. "Yuri why don't you shut up for a minute or two? I think you've done enough talking."

---


	3. The Test

**I'm ba-ack. Anyway, if you see grammatical errors, please let-me-know, now, On to the Ra-be-damned Fic!-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

The kitchen was a mess, as was the woman slumped on the table. Black hair stuck up at all angles on her head and barely healed scrapes covered his arms. The torn baggy clothing she was wearing looked as though it had been slept in and needed to be washed. From her delicate hand a bottle of Samuel Adams Utopias was loosely held. The woman raised her head to take a sip from the bottle. His face was even worse then the rest of his appearance. emaciated and insipid, her face could have been a skull. Dull black eyes had the look of someone who has seen too much. The eyes were filled with despair and sadness. No one would assume that this starved and ragged corpse was only a few days before happily discussing the life she and her fiancée would lead together.

A TV was tuned on to a wedding, of all things, foolish in her state of mind but it made her feel better. It battled to maintain dominance over her tears and the stranglehold of silence the permeated the cheap apartment she had rented to get away from the sympathy of her family's glances.

The priest was droning on inexorably towards the infamous "till death do us part". She had to laugh bitterly at that. At some point in the last few days, the well-worn phrase had come to feel more like a threat than a romantic promise.

It was, after all, death that had parted Naomi from her hus-fiancée, sudden and pointless death delivered at the hands of a cabbie by Shirokanedai Station in Minato, Tokyo. Judging by the internal damage done to Raye's body, the accident investigator estimated the cab was traveling at fifty to sixty miles on a city street. The impact had knocked Raye out of his shoes. They were found, still laced, seventy-three feet away from his body, a detail Naomi hadn't needed to know and was trying to forget now.

Nearly one hundred people had witnessed the accident; half a baker's dozen stayed to tell their story to the police. No one had managed to get the license plate number. No one heard the squeal of the brakes. There were no marks on the asphalt to indicat her husband's murderer had tried to stop or even swerve.

"Drunk off his ass or high." The ever-so-helpful accident investigator had offered. "or maybe just didn't know where the fuckin' brake pedal was. Some of these get there licenses off the backs of cracker jack boxes on the boat over from Iraq."

Seven hours after Raye had died Naomi had identified Raye at the morgue. Despite the violence of the collision, his body was almost completely unmarked. Still, he hadn't looked as if he were sleeping. That was a story sold to children in need of comfort. Without life within, the human body looked like the awkward and asymmetrical compilation of parts it was. His death face would forever eclipse the wonderful memory pictures of him in life. She dropped the bottle. Shards of glass shattered against the floor, liquid spilling from the smashed bottle. 50,400.80 yen, what Raye had planned for the man to drink at their wedding, wasted.

She passed out still mourning the loss of the alcohol.

---

You may begin."

The To-Oh entrance exam lay open-faced before Light. Picking up the provided pencil, He read the problem. It was an easy one:

_A common anticoagulant, heparin, prevents the formation of new clots and slows the development of preexisting clots. Usually given by the I.V. route, it's ordered in doses of units per hour or milliliters per hour. Each dose is individualized based on the patient's coagulation status, which is measured by the activated thrombopastin time test. An order states heparin 40.000 U in 1 L of D5W I.V. Infuse at 1,000 U/hr. What is the flow rate in milliliters per hour?_

Doing the calculations quickly in his head he scratched response _d) To administer heparin at 1,000 U/hr, you should set the flow rate at 25 ml/hr._

"Hmm? You there! Number 1-6-2! Sit properly!"

The auburn-haired youth glanced in his seat, momentarily distracted, and was instantly lost in endless obsidian eyes. Dark windswept bangs hung over his face, distracting Light from those challenging dark eyes. The untamed flyaway raven locks made him look like a hobo who had simply taken a wrong turn and accidentally ended up in the examination room. An image the rumpled, worn, unflattering clothing did nothing to remedy. And that posture, Damn! When the examiner yelled, he should have blessed his grandchildren for his consideration! Surely sitting like that did nothing for the circulation, in fact, the guy's knees were probably going to blow out by the time he hit 30. Instead of showing the heartfelt consideration any normal human being would exhibit, he rolled his eyes and repositioned himself, putting his feet up like he owned the place, then as soon as the Procter's back was turned, went right back to crouching in that abominable position, how did he manage to balance like that, anyway? Maybe he was part spider monkey. He laughed internally at the thought and went back to examination.

But something about the guy nagged at his subconscious, he had seen the judicial look in those blank gun-metal-gray depths, a shrewd judicial gleam that had keenly judged him and found him wanting.

---

"So I informed Nanami that I had no idea how many boyfriendsAkaneNakamura had managed to get her claws into and to please, for her own sake and the welfare of Japan, in general, attempt to buy, steal, or barrow a life as soon as possible." Sayu giggled.

"Big brother? Light? Light!"

light felt the greasy French fry actually thunk against his forehead before he turned to to look at his little sister who had taken the time out of her schedule to bring him lunch.

"I hate it when you do this." Her thin black eyebrows furrowed at him from across the table.

"Do what?"

"ignore good gossip. Fail to laugh at any of my perfectly good jokes."

He smiled charmingly. " sorry, little sister. Could you just hold up a sign or something where I'm supposed to laugh."

She gave him the look. 'you're an an arrogant jerk and I don't know why I put up with you.' It said plainly. She started to gather her books from the park-bench. "Does the term misanthrope mean anything to you?"

(for those of you who are victims of crappy government-school education it means hater of mankind)

"I was just kidding." He smiled genuinely "please don't go, I haven't finished my burger."

She sat down but made it poignantly clear that he was on probation until further notice. "Who's that black-haired boy with the weird eyes?"

"What a descriptive statement" Light grinned sarcastically, knowing full-well whom she meant.

"Oh, you know, the one you've been staring at for the past ten minutes."

Light cursed inwardly. The problem with little sisters, besides their officious insistence on having their jokes laughed at was the fact that they rarely ever missed out on the things their siblings really, really wanted them to miss.

"I wasn't staring at him. He's just some kid who finished before me." Light stated emphatically.

"You were. Why don't you talk to him?"

'Why didn't he?' Light thought to himself watching the guy devour thirteen donuts then taking out a bottle of tea to wash it down.

"Go on!" his sister urged grinning at him like an out-of-season jack-o-lantern.

Might as well, see what the guys deal was. He got up and, trying to block out his sister's cheering, walked to the guys table.

"Hey, I-"

"-Kaifa haloka" (a.n:How are you?)

"What?"

"Kaifa haloka." The man said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak-"

"-Arabic," the man interrupted again. "I didn't expect it but it does come as something of a disappointment."

"Disappointment?" Light parroted, feeling like an idiot and probably looking like one too.

"Arabic is an important language." The gun-metal eyes gleamed in confrontational ire. "to lack knowledge of it is surely negligence."

Light's retort was cut off by the bell signaling the second portion of the exam would begin shortly.

---

Light came home that evening late. He smelled like wood smoke and barbecue sauce.

My mom, dad, his leg draped over the side of a stool, and I were already at the table eating dinner. Skewers of succulent chicken dipped in barbecue sauce, grilled to perfection over hot charcoals, then washed down with cold beer. Of course, there were other, obviously more healthy foods to be had but this was some high-quality Yakitori, Yummm!

As he walked in through the front door and brushed his feet on the matt, the perfectionist as always, before taking his shoes off, my mom called out in greeting, "So, Light, how do you think you did on the exam?"

Light walked elegantly, like a dancer, I cringed inwardly at the disturbing image of my brother straddling a pole, and took a chair next to me. "It was okay, I guess," too easy was the unspoken message that everyone at the table understood. "What happened to your leg, Dad?"

My father winced "I went for a shot I shouldn't have gone for. Twisted it, damn Matsuda."

"Did you get enough to eat" my mom asked looking concerned, ignoring her husbands comment. Light patted his stomach "Karubi, Yakiniku and chicken. Not as good as your chicken, of course."

"Actually, your father cooked-"

"-Yeah, by calling Matsuzaka Steak and Yakitori and paying the guy extra to deliver." I cut in grinning.

"But I did I did microwave the sauce, so that counts as cooking." Dad grumbled glaring at me like I'd been caught selling government secrets to the Chinese.

Light winked at dad. "Well, the stuff at the café had to be better than Dad's cooking. Glad I ate there."

"And just for that you get no desert." My dad growled. "Ice cream. Haagen-Daz's Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream."

"Oooh, Haagen-Dazs?!" Light groaned "I take it all back. I apologize, I grovel, I beg, You're the best cook ever Dad. I can't live without my Haagen-Dazs."

"Drama queen." I muttered under my breath.

Light heard me, and ruffled my hair in revenge. Then turned back to talk with my parents.

A totally normal scene around a totally normal dinner table. Nobody would have ever known the truth. Light wasn't Light. Sure, he generally acted about the same, and No, he was not some alien-pod person, or a demon possessing my brother's body, but something about him…was off.

"What's your issue?" Light must have noticed me staring at him.

I snapped out of my daze. "What? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking."

"You were staring at me."

I forced a laugh. "Really? I thought I was just staring at blank space. But then again, blank space, your head. What's the difference?"

It worked. Light snatched up a brad roll and chucked at m. I caught it in midair a split second before it would have hit my face.

For a moment we glared at each other.

"Light, don't throw food," my dad sipped his coffee. "It's undignified."

"No worries, Dad, Light's not quick enough to hit me anymore. He's slowed down, lost his touch, sad really…" I added the last part in to ride his nerves.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't push it, squirt."

I smiled, it was a fake smile, but the best I could do on such short notice. "You used to be quicker when you were still on the tennis team. I guess all that studying must have slowed your reflexes, old man." Before my brother's study binges, aka pre-midlife crisis, he would not have put up with that. He'd have never let me challenge him and get away. If he was my brother, we would be wrestling on the floor, before he overpowered me, put me in a headlock and given me a noogie until I screamed for mercy, or Dad freed me from his stranglehold of death.

But now, he just gave me that cold, shallow smile.

Maybe it's because he'd changed, perhaps it was because I'd changed, whatever it was I hated it. the silence stretched between us for a few minutes and our parents, feeling uncomfortable, made small talk.

"I have homework to do," I intoned finally. "May I be excused?"

"Be sure to come back down for ice cream." Mom called, as I beat my hasty retreat.

---

Unbeknownst to the upper-class suburban family a pair of black occuli was watching the plight of the rapidly melting Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream with considerable distress.

The shadow managed to find his voice as the ice cream finally melted, its scream, long and heart-wrenching drove to the core of a heart he had not even known he'd possessed.

"Watari, I do believe the cameras are no longer necessary."

---

Misa drifted on a gentle sea halfway between waking and dreaming. Though her eyes were closed, she felt the sun's brilliance through her eyelids and smiled at the pleasant warmth on her face.

A shadow moved between her and the sun's nourishing heat; she wrinkled brow slightly but then relaxed as the huge familiar hand slipped around her own and gave it a squeeze. She tried to say "Hey, Daddy.", but it was way too much effort in her wonderfully lazy state. So smiled to indicate he was welcome, and drifted along, her hand in his, loving her father, remembering all the years of looking up to him and adoring him, The neighborhood kids had called her a 'Daddy's girl', but she hadn't cared. Her mother had been happy, her own childhood had been a nightmare, she had said, and she often told Misa one of the most essential gifts a young woman could have is a good healthy respect for her father.

"Not being able to love him, not wanting the man within a hundred mile radius of you," her mother had said, "that's a horrible thing to happen to a girl. I'm delighted you feel for your dad so much." Then she had smiled a bit sadly. "As the American author Andrew Vachss once said, 'having a child is another chance to get it right'"

Misa had understood the message, and had been extremely proud of her mother; whatever had happened to her mom as a little girl, it had not held her back. She was a capable and empathetic lawyer and an amazing mom. The only thing she wasn't great at was being a good wife.

Her father's grip began to slacken, but Misa tightened her own in response. This moment was a gift; she savored the peace and quiet she spent together with her father. So many clueless people didn't get that it was just about being together, not over planning days an nights with 'fun activities' and pricey presents to make up for a missed audition, her family had gotten it right, thou, and-

"-Time to wake up, Misa."

The panic started she knew what the dream was, the word survivor, echoed through her dazed head like drumming of church bells.

Her father's voice whispered more insistent. "Wake up." The words were outside her head, which meant he was truly alive, truly there, trying to wake her from her dreams, of course he was. Of course, we all survived, because this is my life, and things like dying don't happen. Her heart beat faster and she tried her best to pry her eyelids open. She was incredibly tired. Her head swam as if she was flying; her left leg wrenched, the way body parts sometimes do when one was falling asleep or waking up. She tried to turn her head to avoid staring at the sun, but just could not manage it.

"Misa Amane. Wake up."

And she did her face bumping roughly into a magazine, she not only turned her head, but opened her eyes as well, a smile on her face and-

A scream ripped out of her, tearing up and out from her diaphragm to the top of her head, she screamed again and again, it had not been her father leaning over her, the thing was not even human, its face was flat, the flesh swollen and stretched like pliant white candle wax. Its reptilian eyes were wide and staring, its snake-like nostrils flared, the wings transformed the figure turning into some sort of bird of prey, and her, the scared little rabbit it planned to devour for lunch.

A voice echoed from the beak-like mouth but she was screaming so loudly she couldn't understand what it was saying. She shot herself away from it, arms and legs flailing, scrabbling backward in terror, shrieking, the creature moved with her, raising an arm and jabbing a clawed hand over her mouth.

"My name is Rem." Its voice murmured softly, face aglow with brilliant crimson flame that radiated from its eyes.

Misa never heard this, for she had fainted dead away.

---


End file.
